Unless it’s in a vault somewhere waiting to be uncovered,
we’re likely never to see the version of
Bhowani
Junction that George Cukor
intended. When MGM previewed it, the audience supposedly found the action
confusing and distasteful, especially the sexual overtones, and, against
Cukor’s wishes, the studio rushed to simplify and sentimentalize the story
of a woman “cheechee”—an Anglo Indian —torn between Britain
and India at the time the Raj was collapsing and Gandhi was ascending. (Scenes
were cut entirely, plot machinations were rearranged, and Stewart Granger’s
narration added to prevent any doubts.) What’s left are indications that
this may have been the “epic” the director longed to make—roughly
two years in production, it’s epochal, sprawling, noisy, authentic-looking,
with a cast of thousands. Maybe, though, there’d be no real improvement if
given his cut, because we still have to overcome the Star as a half-caste.
Gardner doesn’t act, she reacts; she hits her marks and hopes for a good
take, and doubtlessly counting on her enormous likability to be enough of
an asset to withstand her lack of convincing characterization. There is,
however, during a Sikh ceremony, a very close close-up—the biggest and
longest of her career?—confirming Ava as one of the screen’s greatest
beauties. Cukor resisted Granger, wanting Trevor Howard. Beyond our comprehension
that Ava could ever fall for that sadist.